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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27836170">A Truth Universally Acknowledged</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseApothecary/pseuds/ProseApothecary'>ProseApothecary</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Clones (kinda), Eddie Kaspbrak lives but Stanley Uris does not, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Me deliberately misunderstanding science to facilitate pining, Parallel Universes, Pressure to be in a relationship, Sex happens but no one fucks their clone (sorry)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:22:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,214</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27836170</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseApothecary/pseuds/ProseApothecary</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well.” Mike coughs. “I’m not. I’m not sure what’s happened, but. Quilted multiverse, right? Infinite variations mean infinite universes that only differ in the minutest ways.”</p><p>He looks around the circle like anyone understands what he’s saying. “What I’m saying is, maybe  our worlds are supposed to be a little closer than they are. Maybe the universe was trying to self-correct and…overshot a little.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” NotEddie says, “You think the universe was trying to <i>copy-paste</i> our relationship, and ended up chucking <i>us</i> in instead?”</p><p>Richie stares intently at his hands. He can hear the fridge humming all the way from the kitchen. He’s focussing on that. The fridge is safe.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m not jumping in a quarry with a facial wound,” Eddie says definitively. “There’s brave, and then there’s stupid.”</p><p>“Fair enough.” says Richie. He doesn’t need to see Eddie with his hair soaked and his lashes clumping together, not while clown-killing adrenaline is pumping through his veins. <em>There’s brave, and then there’s stupid.</em></p><p> “Meet us down there, man.” He takes off his glasses. And then he jumps. Buffeted by air and then the crash of water.</p><p>He slicks his hair, rubs his eyes, and puts his glasses back on.</p><p>“Richie!” he hears. “You disappeared on me there for a second.”</p><p>He turns around. Eddie is in the water, ambling towards him. He’s a little confused as to how he got here so quickly, but then again, the man has runner’s thighs.</p><p>Then Eddie’s standing right in front of him, bobbles of his hoodie floating in the water. His hand snakes up to Richie’s neck.</p><p> Richie only has time to think <em>what</em> before Eddie’s mouth is pressed against his, and his tongue is pressing, <em>insistently</em>, at Richie’s lips.</p><p>He doesn’t fall backwards into the water, but it’s a close thing.</p><p>“Richie!” he hears from…the bank? “Get the fuck away from it!”</p><p>And he turns to see Eddie, taking loping, splashing leaps into the water towards them., wielding a stick like a fucking wild man.</p><p>
  <em>Well, fuck.</em>
</p><p>Richie’s too tired for fear. All he feels is <em>I can’t do this again.</em></p><p>He’s unarmed. He should probably <em>move</em>, but he’s not about to leave Eddie alone with NotEddie, not after he almost-</p><p>“What the fuck?” NotEddie says, backing away from the both of them with wild eyes.</p><p>But the other Losers are surrounding him now., brought over by Eddie’s yelling.</p><p>“Richie,” NotEddie says, looking at him with big pleading eyes as Eddie holds a stick up to his throat. “Richie, c’mon, fuck, it’s me-”</p><p>“Don’t listen to him, Rich,” Eddie says, glancing between the two of them frantically. He looks like he might cry. “It’s- I’m me! I can fucking-I can prove it to you, ask me about something from high school, ask me anything-”</p><p>“I know, Eds,” he says. As if it wasn’t obvious. As if he shouldn’t have clocked that from the kiss.</p><p>“Richie,” NotEddie says, arms wrapped around his middle. “Richie. I know things only we know. We had our first kiss in your backyard, 2 am in the morning. Moved in together in college. Only ever broke up for about a week-”</p><p>“Eds?” comes a familiar voice from across the quarry.</p><p>Richie looks up, and sees himself staring back.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“So,” Mike says. “There’s a chance we may have opened an interdimensional portal.”</p><p>“Good job, fucknuts,” NotEddie says. He’s a lot less scared, and a lot crankier now that NotRichie has an arm around him, and he’s Not got a stick in his face.</p><p>Eddie gives him an unimpressed look. If possible, it seems like he hates him <em>more</em> now than when he thought he was a demon clown.</p><p>“…There’s also a chance <em>you</em> opened an interdimensional portal,” Mike adds to NotRichieandEddie.</p><p>Richie just sits in his chair in the corner of the hotel living  room. No-one’s asked him questions yet, questions like <em>Why would you let him kiss you?</em> and <em>Didn’t you realise something was off?</em> And Richie thinks if he manages to stay quiet, and out of sight, he might keep it that way.</p><p>The weird thing is that no one’s even <em>commented</em> on the relationship.  </p><p>No, <em>Hey, there’s a world where Richie and Eddie are dating, isn’t that wild?</em></p><p>He doesn’t know what that means.</p><p>Maybe they really don’t see the relevance. They are different people, after all.</p><p><em>Or</em>, maybe everyone already knows all the secrets Richie’s been keeping on lockdown for the last 40 years. Maybe this just isn’t a surprise.</p><p>It’s a fun little debate he’s having with himself, taking a break every five minutes to fixate on the fact that Eddie looks a little queasy whenever NotRichieandEddie touch.</p><p>“So, how do we fix it, Micycle?” NotRichie asks.</p><p>“I’m not sure,” Mike says. “What we’re you doing, before you…teleported?”</p><p>“Public indecency in a quarry,” NotRichie says, while NotEddie steps on his foot.</p><p>“…Ah.” Mike says. “Is it fair to say our universes are pretty similar? Barring your relationship?”</p><p>“How would we <em>know</em>?” asks NotEddie.</p><p>“Is Georgie alive?” Bill asks.</p><p>NotEddie shakes his head, chastened.</p><p>“Stan?” Richie pipes up, suddenly intensely curious.</p><p>Another shake of the head.</p><p>“Did you remember anyone other than each other?” Bev asks. “In the years in between?”</p><p>“To be fair,” NotRichie says, “They didn’t remember <em>us.</em>”</p><p>“Well.” Mike coughs. “I’m not. I’m not <em>sure</em> what’s happened, but. Quilted multiverse, right? Infinite variations mean infinite universes that only differ in the minutest ways.”</p><p> He looks around the circle like anyone understands what he’s saying. “What I’m saying is, maybe  our worlds are supposed to be a little closer than they are. Maybe the universe was trying to self-correct and…overshot a little.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” NotEddie says, “You think the universe was trying to <em>copy-paste </em>our relationship, and ended up chucking <em>us</em> in instead?”</p><p>Richie stares intently at his hands. He can hear the fridge humming all the way from the kitchen. He’s focussing on that. The fridge is safe.</p><p>Mike scratches his neck. “Something like that.”</p><p>“So how do we fix it?” NotEddie asks. “These two assholes get their act together, we go back?”</p><p>“Uh. I’m really not sure-” Mike starts as Eddie makes an offended sound.</p><p>NotEddie looks between Richie and Eddie. “Do you need mood music? Kiss already.”</p><p>Eddie saves Richie the trouble of figuring out what his response is going to be.</p><p>“No.” he says, folding his arms in front of his chest. “Fuck you.”</p><p>
  <em>Well. It’s succinct at least.</em>
</p><p>“Are you kidding me?” NotEddie asks. “You’re not going to let us go home because you’re afraid of <em>cooties</em>?”</p><p>“I am <em>married</em>,” Eddie hisses.</p><p>NotEddie just stares at him for a few seconds. “Oh my <em>God</em>,” he says eventually. “To <em>who</em>?”</p><p>“None of your business!” Eddie says, and then he’s standing up and stalking off to his room.</p><p>Richie feels like maybe he’s supposed to follow. But he’s a little entranced by how bizarre this all is. NotRichie catches his eye, points to NotEddie, and mouths something like <em>You sure you don’t want one?</em></p><p>Richie huffs a laugh despite everything. Shakes his head. Potentially the biggest lie he’s told this week, and he didn’t even have to open his mouth.</p><p>NotEddie is talking, just to NotRichie now. Complaining, probably. Richie’s just watching the two of them poke and prod at each other and occasionally tangle their fingers together.</p><p>It aches a little, but not as much as he thought it would. After all, he’s been seeing visions of Eddie and him like this for days now, and for years, years ago. The only difference is that now other people can see them too.</p><p>He glances around the circle. Mike is leaning forward, intrigued. Everyone else’ expression can more or less be summarised as <em>What are we gonna do now?</em></p><p>He stands up, before they can decide. “I’m uh. I’m gonna find Eddie.”</p><p> </p><p>He checks Eddie’s room and finds it empty.</p><p>Swallowing down the helpful thoughts of <em>clown kidnapping</em> and <em>malfunctioning portal </em>that pop up, he checks his own room.</p><p>Also empty.</p><p>His stomach’s really starting to churn. Then he hears footsteps from the spare room next door.</p><p>“Hey.” Richie knocks on the door. “It’s me. The real Richie.” He pauses. “The hot one, I mean.”</p><p>When he knocks on the door and sees Eddie, hair ruffled, cool relief floods his bones.</p><p>“Switching rooms? Do bored rich WASPs always do this when they book a hotel?”</p><p>Eddie narrows his eyes. “My bathroom. Is covered in blood. Asshole.” He punctuates the words with his hand, bouncing off of his other palm.</p><p>Whenever Eddie gets worked up like this, Richie gets the urge to just hold him to his chest, feel him vibrating with nervy energy. Stuck between the push-pull of wanting to calm him down and exacerbate the situation.</p><p>“Whose fault is that?”</p><p>“Stop it.” Eddie says. “I don’t want to turn a second bedroom into a murder scene.” He turns and goes to sit on the bed.</p><p>“Kinky,” Richie says automatically, following him in and closing the door.</p><p>He hovers for a second before he sits next to Eddie on the bed.</p><p>There’s a sad little dip between his brows. It’s the only time he looks his age, when he’s sad. The only time the puppy eyes and improbable abs and boundless energy don’t work their aggressively youthful magic with the efficiency of an LA surgeon.</p><p>Not that Richie doesn’t want him all the time. Not that Richie wouldn’t take him if he looked like the wrinkled fucking corpse of Tutankhamen.</p><p>Eddie’s eyes meet his, and Richie rapidly makes his mind blank.</p><p>Eddie’s mouth twists. “Evil Eddie. Am I really that annoying?”</p><p>Richie huffs a startled laugh. When Eddie’s brow furrows, he says, quickly, “No. Honestly. I think being stuck with me made you bitchier.”</p><p>“No. You mellow me out.” Eddie says, lightly, like that’s not some kind of revelation, like that’s not going to replay in Richie’s head until the end of time.</p><p>“Not all the time, obviously,” Eddie continues blithely. “Sometimes you piss me off so bad I want to choke you.”</p><p>
  <em>Well, now Richie has a second contender for infinite brain loops.</em>
</p><p>The door opens, revealing NotEddie, half-turned, grinning at NotRichie. His smile flattens as he looks at them. “Your room is 2 doors down,” he says helpfully. “We’re taking the spare.”</p><p>“My bathroom’s covered in blood!” Eddie says. Richie watches a drop of his spit fly an impressive 2 metres. “I’m staying here!”</p><p>“Whose fault is that?” NotRichie asks.</p><p>Eddie glares at Richie, who suddenly feels intensely responsible for all of this. So he says, “Hey, how about you take my room? I’ll sleep on the couch. Everyone’s happy.”</p><p>“How chivalrous.” NotEddie says dryly. “Almost makes you want to jump in bed with him, huh?”</p><p>Eddie flips him the bird.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Richie’s a little tall for the couch. He tries sort of planking on the ends of the couch before giving in and just curling up in a tiny bundle.</p><p>He cries a little.</p><p>Some of it is from exhaustion. Most of it is from thinking about just how virulently Eddie does not want to kiss him.</p><p>But self-pity turns to terror as soon as he hears a quiet creaking. He sits up immediately, honing in on the sound and trying to grapple for his glasses.</p><p>“I’m not afraid of you,” he says insistently. His voice breaks a little, so it’s probably not particularly convincing.</p><p>The living room lights come on.</p><p>“You should be, dipshit.”</p><p>Richie breathes out as soon as he turns to see Eddie. In a blue satin pyjama set, like he’s starring in a Hallmark movie.</p><p>“Dude.” Eddie says, brows drawing together. “…Are you crying?”</p><p>“No.” Richie wipes at his face. “The couch is dusty.”</p><p>“…I really didn’t mean to freak you out.” Eddie says, expression a humiliating mix of guilt and pity. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>
  <em>Perfect. Now Eddie thinks he cries whenever floorboards squeak. And Richie is going to say fucking nothing because the alternative is explaining what he’s actually depressed about.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Pick your battles, right?</em>
</p><p>Richie shrugs. “I just thought the ghost of Sonia Kaspbrak was coming to-”</p><p>“To beat the shit out of you for all your dumbass jokes? If only.”</p><p>“Annhilated.” Richie says in his best video game voice, throwing himself back onto the couch so he can wipe his hand over his face. He sits back up, peeking over the cushions while he waits for Eddie to explain what he’s doing here.</p><p>Eddie shifts from foot to foot. Eventually he says, “You should sleep with me.” His face screws up immediately.</p><p>Richie’s eyebrows land somewhere on the other side of his face.</p><p>“Shut up,” Eddie says. “Not—just. I doubt you even fit in regular beds, so I know you can’t sleep on a couch without grinding your spine into fucking baby powder. And clearly you’re gonna piss yourself if anyone sneaks down for a midnight snack, so just. Sleep in my bed. Which is really your bed. Just don’t tell Evil Eddie. He’s gonna make a whole <em>thing</em> of it.”</p><p> </p><p>The good news is that they’re both already in their PJs. He figures seeing Eddie’s bedtime routine unfold would destroy him in a very specific and painful way.</p><p>The bad news is that when Richie reaches for the bedside lamp, Eddie says, “Can we just-talk for a bit?”</p><p>Richie would prefer to talk with the lights off, when he can’t see the stupid silky pyjamas he wants to feel up.</p><p>But he retracts his hand, sitting up in bed. “Sure, Eds.”</p><p>“You’re with me on this, right?” Eddie asks.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“That we’re not gonna…<em>ritualistically</em> <em>hook up</em> on the <em>off</em> <em>chance</em> that it might send these assholes back?”</p><p><em>Oh, this is the perfect place to have this conversation. </em>“I mean. I don’t think anyone said <em>hook up</em>, per se…” <em>Is that where you’d draw the line, Richie? Is it really?</em></p><p>“Oh my God.” Eddie’s eyes get wider. “You’re on board with it.”</p><p>“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do,” Richie says, which is honest, if weaselly.</p><p>“But you think it’s a good idea! Richie! We have to be on the same side here, or everyone’s just going to gang up on me and-” He reaches for the inhaler he doesn’t have anymore, taking in a gasping breath.</p><p>“Whoa.” Richie’s stomach attempts some acrobatics it’s barely capable of. He moves his hand towards Eddie’s shoulder then thinks better of it, laying it in his lap and lacing his fingers together. “Eds. Eddie. No one’s gonna force you into anything, I swear.”</p><p>Eddie glances at him. His breathing’s evening out but he still looks stricken. “That’s not- I know you wouldn’t-I just mean. Everyone thinks I’m being difficult. Being a coward, again, and everyone expects me to just get over it and do whatever needs to be done, but I have-I have <em>other</em> responsibilities. I’m married, for fuck’s sake!”</p><p>“Ok.” Richie swallows, feeling manifestly unequipped to deal with this. “You’re not letting anyone down. You saved <em>everyone’s</em> asses when you shish-kabobed that clown. But. You know your first responsibility is making yourself happy, right? Not to Myra. Or to Evil Richie and Eddie.”</p><p>Eddie surges forward, pressing a kiss to Richie’s mouth. It’s not soft, or gentle, or long. They practically bounce off each other. But <em>Jesus</em>, it’s Eddie.</p><p>Richie sits there, dazed.</p><p>“See!” Eddie says, pointing manically to the wall beside them, where noises are emanating. “Still there!”</p><p>Richie swallows. “Oh.”  He lets his head thud back on the pillow.</p><p>They stay there in silence for a moment. Then he realises, with a strange mix of dread and hysteria, that the sounds from next door are less getting-ready-for-bed and more…<em>in bed.</em></p><p>He hears Eddie, confused. “Is that-”</p><p><em>Do you think they’d be down for a foursome? </em>Richie hears, very clearly, in his own voice. Then <em>Real fucking funny, asshole</em>, and the sound of an open palm slap. Richie doesn’t have to guess where it’s landing.</p><p>“Oh my <em>God</em>,” says Eddie.</p><p>The sounds get increasingly nonverbal.</p><p>Richie snorts as his hysteria builds up to intolerable levels. Eddie whips his head around to give him a <em>How can you laugh at a time like THIS?</em> look. Richie gives him a <em>What the fuck else can I do?</em> look in return.</p><p>“They’re faking,” Richie says wonderingly, and when Eddie gives him an incredulous look, amends, “Ok, well, <em>exaggerating</em>, at least.”</p><p>Eddie stares at him. “But <em>why?</em>”</p><p>Richie thinks it may be the same reason Bev starts dropping increasingly obvious hints whenever she’s around the two of them. He shrugs. “Guess all versions of me are obnoxious.”</p><p>There’s a gasp from NotEddie. Eddie’s cheeks redden immediately.</p><p>“I do <em>not</em> sound like that,” he hisses. He doesn’t make eye contact. His whole face is pinched inwards like he’s deepthroating a lemon.</p><p>“Maybe not with Myra,” Richie says, because he can’t really help himself.</p><p>He’s a little less smug as soon as NotEddie says <em>Do you wanna get fucked or not? Because right now you’re not making a compelling argument. </em></p><p>Richie might as well get <em>This boy is a bottom</em> tattooed across his forehead.</p><p>The funny thing is that none of it, not the humiliation, nor the terror, nor the guilty horniness is as strong as it would’ve been, a few hours ago. He feels like he’s been rejected so thoroughly today that maybe he’s learning to give up. Not move on, but separate himself from the things Eddie says and does. Convince his body not to go into overdrive whenever Eddie touches his elbow. Because now he knows, categorically, that nothing is going to happen. Like sitting underwater at a pool party, hearing the noises of people in the background. It’s the only thing you can focus on, but it’s part of a different world. It’s not relevant to you.</p><p>“That’s it,” Eddie says, throwing back the duvet. “I’m going over there.” He pauses, undoubtedly registering that bossiness seems to work on Richie in at least some realms of life, and adds, “You’re coming with me.”</p><p>“I don’t think so,” says Richie. He does a great job crippling his own love life. He’s not willing to cockblock even more versions of himself.</p><p>Eddie scowls, and marches out.</p><p>Richie follows him to their doorway and peers out, very curious as to how this is going to play out, but less willing to see Evil Eddie in his underwear. He doesn’t need to confuse himself any more.</p><p> </p><p>Eddie starts knocking, and doesn’t stop until the door opens.</p><p>“Can you go <em>one fucking night</em> without sex?” he demands, as soon as he’s face-to-face with the two of them.</p><p>“I almost <em>died</em>,” NotEddie says, “Forgive me for wanting to reaffirm that I’m still alive, and not just nap in those fucking…Hugh Hefner pyjamas.”</p><p>“I almost died too!” Eddie screeches. “You literally cannot out-trauma me.”</p><p>“Really?” NotEddie asks. “Did <em>you</em> grow up gay in Derry?”</p><p>There’s a long silence. Then Eddie, hissing, “You don’t <em>know</em> me,” which Richie thinks is possibly the most interesting answer he could’ve given. It almost feels like Eddie’s diving down with him, to sit at the bottom of the pool.</p><p><em>He’s not,</em> Richie reminds himself. <em>Stick to giving up. You were really getting somewhere with that.</em></p><p>Eddie sighs, a long breath out. Eventually, he says, “Just. Keep it the fuck down, shortstack.”</p><p>Richie snorts. 3 pairs of eyes turn towards him as he ducks behind the doorframe.</p><p> </p><p>Eddie elbows him on his way back in, climbs into bed, and pulls a pillow on top of his head as the moaning begins in earnest.</p><p>Richie joins him, and hopes, more fervently than he’s ever hoped for anything, that it doesn’t inspire any dreams.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Richie, thank God, is exhausted enough that he falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.</p>
<p>When he wakes up, Eddie’s curled up on his side, facing away from him. Hair absolutely fucked in a way Richie is sort of obsessed with.</p>
<p>Richie frowns. He’s pretty sure, from the way he’s breathing, that Eddie is awake.</p>
<p>“…Eds? You ok?”</p>
<p>Eddie startles a little as soon as Richie starts talking, but he doesn’t turn around.</p>
<p>“Fine,” he says, in a tight little voice. “Uh. Headache.”</p>
<p>“Oh. You need anything?”</p>
<p>“Nope. Just gonna stay here for a bit.”</p>
<p>“Alright,” Richie says. “I’ll be in the shower.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s possible he has a headache. But Richie has had many an experience of waking up at sleepovers with that excuse at the ready. Eddie never used that excuse, and the fact that he’s using it <em>now</em>, almost definitely in response to the psychosexual drama happening right next door…Well. It’s kinda a lot for Richie</p>
<p>Unfortunately the thought <em>You might be jerking off to your friend’s migraine</em> does absolutely nothing to still his hand</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Richie comes out of the bathroom, with a guilty buzz, to see Eddie’s up now. Sitting on the end of the bed, looking despondently at nothing. Richie joins him.</p>
<p>“…You alright, Eds?”</p>
<p>“Am I alright?” Eddie asks, now looking up at Richie with incredulity in his eyes. “Am I <em>alright</em>? I didn’t sleep all night, so push that sleep deprivation meter up to a week. I haven’t made a decision for myself in the last decade. And I thought maybe facing the fucking clown changed something, like maybe <em>now</em> I could live my own life, but. Someone’s already living it for me.”</p>
<p><em>Fuck. Maybe that was a real migraine. </em>“Eddie. It’s not you. It’s like. Your shitty twin brother. And if your shitty twin brother wants to date someone who looks like the owner of a dwindling tourist trap, at some point you’ve gotta let that shit go.”</p>
<p>Eddie’s hands unclench. He gives him a little smile. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You look like the owner of a <em>thriving</em> tourist trap.”</p>
<p>“Gee, Eds,” Richie says, hand on chest. “You really think so?”</p>
<p>Eddie whacks his arm with a roll of his eyes and a rapidly expanding smile, and Richie suddenly feels the weight of the guilt he’s been carrying for the last 24 hours.</p>
<p>“You know um. None of its your fault. Or responsibility.”</p>
<p>Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Really? Cause everyone else seems to think it’s our fault.”</p>
<p>“Mine, maybe.” Richie says, and examines the pieces of fluff clumping on the carpet.</p>
<p>“What, did you trip and fall into an interdimensional portal?”</p>
<p>He doesn’t know if they can work this out, but he knows he has to do his part. To let Evil Richie and Eddie get back, to make sure no one else spends another second in Derry.</p>
<p>
  <em>Jesus. He’s fucking doing this, huh? I hope demolishing my own chances gets you your happy ending, Evil Richie and Eddie.</em>
</p>
<p>“Not as far as I know.  But maybe I. Maybe I wished ‘Richie and Eddie’ into existence.” He digs a nail into his thumb. “Maybe it was so unlikely that it…broke reality, a little.”</p>
<p>Eddie looks at him for a long time. Richie can see him from the peripheral. “You’re not that influential, Rich,” he says eventually, and Richie huffs a laugh. <em>That’s fair.</em> “You don’t-You don’t have those feelings.” Eddie continues. “You <em>think</em> you do, because everyone’s telling us we’re <em>soulmates </em>or whatever, but. You don’t.”</p>
<p>Richie could let it go. Maybe he <em>should</em> let it go, but now that the floodgates are open, he’s having real trouble stopping the tide.</p>
<p>He looks up. “This isn’t a post-clown revelation, Eddie. This is a 13-years old, sitting under the bleachers kind of revelation.”</p>
<p>Eddie’s eyes widen as he looks at Richie. His eyes dart away, like he’s remembering things, the bleachers and hammocks and bedrooms. Then his gaze hits the floor, and, flatly, he says, “I need a minute.”</p>
<p><em>Please no,</em> Richie wants to say. <em>Please</em> <em>just reject me now. Just get it the fuck over with.</em></p>
<p>Eddie makes a move to get up.</p>
<p>“You stay,” Richie says quickly, not wanting to spend another half hour within a kilometre of any Richie or Eddie. “I’ll uh. I’ll go for a walk.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A walk around Derry. Truly, a cheering endeavour.</p>
<p>There’s the statue that harassed him. There’s the fountain where he cried in front of Bowers for the first and only time. There’s the hideout where Eddie held his hand for an hour, and Richie wondered what it meant for the following week. <em>Surprise surprise, little Richie. It didn’t mean anything. It meant he was an affectionate kid and you were a horny gremlin.</em></p>
<p>Maybe things have changed, since they skewered the clown, but it’s hard to tell. There’s a father biking with his kid, down Main Street. Maybe that’s a good sign. Maybe people would care if another kid went missing.</p>
<p>His phone lights up with a check-in from Bev.</p>
<p>Maybe people would care if he went missing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everyone’s standing in the living room when he gets back.</p>
<p>“What’s happened?” he asks, trepidation setting in. “Is everyone ok?”</p>
<p>“Everyone’s fine.” Bev says. “Richie and Eddie. The other ones. They’re gone.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Huh.</em>
</p>
<p>“You take part in any rituals while you were out?” Mike asks. It has the cadence of a joke, but it’s pretty evident he wants an answer.</p>
<p>“Orgy at the coke den on Ailes Street, but that’s a regular Thursday.”</p>
<p>“Maybe the other Losers did something on their end,” Ben suggests.</p>
<p>“Maybe,” Mike says, looking dissatisfied.</p>
<p>“Mikey,” Bill continues, end of his mouth twisting up. “You can’t solve every mystery.”</p>
<p>“Spoken like a true master of shitty endings,” Richie pipes up. Bill grins and flips him the bird with both hands.</p>
<p>“So,” Bev says brightly. “…Lunch?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eddie tries to sit next to him. And Richie doesn’t know what the fuck that’s about, doesn’t know if Eddie’s going to try to quietly reject him in front of 5 of their friends, but there’s also no way he can go through that tonight. So it becomes a sort of Benny Hill chase around the table until Richie manages to squeeze himself between Bill and Mike, and Eddie, pouting, sits by Bev. It would be comedic if Richie didn’t feel like he wanted to fucking lock himself in a cabinet.</p>
<p>But he pretends, because that’s what he does. Laughs at everyone’s jokes and makes a few of his own, and gets through it. Manages to get back to his own room. Lays his head on the pillow, breathes out.</p>
<p>And hears a knocking at the door.</p>
<p>He stuffs the pillow on top of his face, and screams.</p>
<p>The knocking continues.</p>
<p>He gets up and opens it to see, <em>surprise surprise</em>, Eddie.</p>
<p>“Can we talk?”</p>
<p><em>Get it over with,</em> Richie tells himself. <em>Just get it over with.</em></p>
<p>He sits back down on the bed. Eddie follows him, closing the door along the way.</p>
<p>There’s a few seconds of silence.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Eddie says. “I’m pretty sure you’re the reason those assholes are gone, so. Thanks.”</p>
<p>Richie shrugs. “Well, maybe they never would’ve come if I said something 27 years ago, so. Whatever. It’s fine.”</p>
<p>“There’s something I need to say too.” Eddie says.</p>
<p><em>Here it comes.</em> Richie’s guts tie up into tight little bows.</p>
<p>“I uh. I married Myra because I felt obligated. Like it was something I was supposed to do. And then I stayed with her because I was just…drifting.”</p>
<p>It’s strange. Richie knows the destination of this conversation, but he’s not entirely clear on how they’re getting there.</p>
<p>“I was so scared of doing that again,” Eddie says, looking down at his lap. His fingers shake. “That I was being convinced into something that I wouldn’t be able to get myself out of.”</p>
<p><em>Oh.</em> Richie thinks, bleakly. <em>I’m a second Myra. A failed Myra.</em></p>
<p>“But now. <em>Now</em> there’s nothing pushing us together,” Eddie says. “And I’m still feeling the pull.”</p>
<p>Richie blinks. He got lost somewhere there.</p>
<p>“…Towards Myra?”</p>
<p>Eddie looks at Richie like he’s being significantly more braindead than usual.</p>
<p>“No, you fucking <em>idiot</em>, towards you.”</p>
<p>“Uh.” Richie says. “Sorry. What?”</p>
<p>Eddie huffs in irritation, looking back at his hands. “I think I just got so caught up in trying to rebel, or, or <em>reject old patterns</em> or whatever, that I walked away from something I. Something good.” He pauses, frowning at himself. “I can’t promise anything. Like, literally anything. I’ve never been in a functional relationship before, let alone one with a man, and I have real fucking trouble figuring out what it is I want but I-I know I want to take a chance on this. If you want to take a chance on me.”</p>
<p>Then his Clifford eyes are on Richie again. Waiting for a response, except Richie’s brain feels like it’s full of chowder, and he has absolutely no idea what to say.</p>
<p>“Like Abba,” he manages eventually.</p>
<p>Eddie’s brow furrows in confusion. “Like Ab-?” And then he narrows his eyes. “Can you be serious for two fucking seconds Richie, I swear to God-”</p>
<p>Richie kisses him.</p>
<p>He’s trying not to focus on how it feels, like every nerve and muscle in his body is attached to Eddie’s spit-slicked lips.</p>
<p>He has to focus on what he’s doing. It has to be good, since Eddie’s so uncertain. Richie does not want to take the chance that his technique’s shitty enough to turn him straight.</p>
<p>So Richie brings a hand up to palm his cheek. Pulls back a little just to lick at Eddie’s bottom lip, feeling a jackpot of satisfaction unlock when Eddie makes a tiny little sound, and opens his mouth. Richie makes a sound in turn, which wasn’t supposed to happen, but <em>Whatever, it’s fine, he’s working with it.</em></p>
<p>Then Eddie clambers over his knees, and his ability to think strategically rapidly disintegrates.</p>
<p>
  <em>Nonono, come on, let me use the only three tricks I’ve learnt over the last 20 years. Let me make this good.</em>
</p>
<p>Eddie attacks his neck like a dentured vampire, fingers digging into his shoulders. And Richie is gone, utterly useless.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Uh.” Richie says, when he comes back up to full self-awareness, significantly later. “Do you want me to-” he fumbles clumsily for Eddie’s jeans.</p>
<p>Eddie shakes his head, jerking away a little.</p>
<p>“That’s ok,” he says, in a tone that clearly means <em>Please don’t.</em> “I’m gonna get you a flannel.”</p>
<p>Richie wants, badly, to pull up his briefs, but he’s pretty sure the only thing that could put Eddie off further is mussing them up. So instead, he rifles through all the things he could’ve done wrong. Eddie seemed pretty into every part of the process, right up until the point where Richie’d get his grubby little hands on him.</p>
<p>He thinks a little too hard, evidently, because when Eddie gets back, he first puts the flannel on his forehead.</p>
<p>“You’re warm,” he explains with half a smirk, then moves it down to Richie’s stomach.</p>
<p>He chews his lips, watching. “Was this like, a test? Was I supposed to tell you I’m waiting for marriage?”</p>
<p>Eddie huffs a laugh. “No. Not a test.”</p>
<p>There’s an awkward silence. “Are you still…?”</p>
<p>Eddie raises an eyebrow expectantly.</p>
<p>“Are you still into this?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Richie,” Eddie says, like he’s explaining to a 3 year-old. “I’m still into this.” He pinches at Richie’s thigh, like he’s <em>particularly</em> into that.</p>
<p>“Ok. Just checking.”</p>
<p>Eddie sighs. “Rich. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were walking a tightrope. It’s not about what you do or don’t do. It’s just about me. Where I’m at.”</p>
<p>“Ok.” Richie says dutifully. “And where are you at, at the moment?”</p>
<p>“At the moment? I feel pretty fucking good about this. I wanna spend the night. And I want you to shove over so I can go to sleep.”</p>
<p>Richie grins. “I wanna be little spoon,” he says, shifting to the right, expecting Eddie to shove him off the bed.</p>
<p>But Eddie just says, “Fine,” and flings an arm around Richie, fitting their legs together</p>
<p>And Richie feels the warmth through every inch of him.</p>
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